


Something To Believe In

by Toni_Lynne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toni_Lynne/pseuds/Toni_Lynne





	Something To Believe In

The first time Lucifer met you, he was wearing Castiel.

When he walked into the bunker for the first time he was busy trying to figure out why Castiel would choose to wear a heavy trench coat and wondering if the Winchesters would find it suspicious if the coat disappeared.  He was unprepared when you rushed into the room and threw yourself in his arms, wrapping him in the warmest and most intimate hug he’d ever received.

“Cas! I’m so glad you are okay,” you said, looking up at him with a smile that should _not_ have made his grace twitch like it did.  He quickly decided Castiel’s vessel must not be strong enough to contain him after all.

“Sam! Dean!” you cried out, and he watched you launch yourself at the brothers next. 

* * *

 

Most days working with the Winchesters made him miss the cage. They were ridiculous and tedious.  Not to mention Castiel’s do-good personality made it almost impossible for Lucifer to get anything done the way he wanted to.

But then there was you and that ridiculously happy smile that made his grace _move_.   

When he was alone he knew he should be thinking about how to take down Amara and planning what to do after she was gone, but instead he spent hours thinking about your laughter and coming up with ways that he could make you laugh so he could hear it again. A tough feat since Castiel was decidedly not funny and his attempts at humor thus far had been met with some confusion from everyone. 

The two of you spent hours alone in the library together.   While you were doing research to help the brothers with whatever hunt they were on, he would flip through old spell books and read old legends, storing knowledge for later use. 

It became common for you to hand him a book written in Enochian or Latin and then lean over his shoulder while he translated it for you. 

After one particularly late night of research, he was surprised when you sat down next to him and snuggled into his side.  As you started to doze off he heard you whisper “I’m so glad we’ve gotten closer Cas.”  He wasn’t prepared for the disappointment he felt when reminded you thought he was Castiel. 

* * *

 

When the truth came out, the betrayal on your face caused a regret he hadn’t felt since he killed Gabriel in that damn hotel.  The last thing he saw as Sam smacked his hand into the bloody sigil were tears sliding down your cheeks. He wanted to reach out to you but he was gone before he had the chance.

* * *

 

Back in the Winchester’s bunker a few weeks later, reunited with his father and healed from the injuries Amara inflicted, Lucifer wasn’t surprised when you avoided him at all costs.  Every attempt he made to interact with you was met with a combination of fear and hatred.   He had been hated and feared most of his existence, but coming from you it felt different. It _hurt._  

* * *

 

Lucifer never thought he would find himself standing in an old warehouse with his father, Crowley, Rowena, the Winchesters and you, and yet here he was.   He should be focused on Amara and the plan, but like always when you were around, he found himself distracted and angry.   When he tried to approach you, you moved to stand behind Crowley. Your hand came up to rest on the demon’s back, as if looking for protection.   You feared him to the point that you would seek shelter with _Crowley_?

When the plan to take down Amara didn’t work like they had hoped it would, he was surprised to find that his first concern wasn’t for his own survival, or even his fathers, but yours.  You had to walk out of this warehouse alive. 

And then he was gone. A celestial being with no vessel.  He couldn’t get back to the warehouse, back to you. 

As the world almost ended, and the Winchesters saved it again, Lucifer searched for a new vessel. 

* * *

 

The next time Lucifer saw you, he was wearing Vince.

Convincing the washed up rock star to say yes had been surprisingly easy.  Adjusting to the vessel had been harder.  Vince had not taken care of his body.  The years of alcohol and drug use had weakened him. Lucifer knew this body would fail quicker then Nick had. 

The radio was on in Vince’s small Chicago apartment and having always had an admiration for music, he turned his focus to the song.

_In a time I don’t remember, in a war he can’t forget. He cried forgive me for what I’ve done there, cause I never meant the things I did.  And give me something to believe in if there’s a Lord above and give me something to believe in_

Snapping his fingers, the radio exploded into tiny pieces but it was too late. Your face, the tears on your cheeks, the fear and betrayal in your eyes. It was all there in his mind. Forgiveness. He wanted your forgiveness, and the thought of being that weak made him rage.  You were a human. An abomination. One of his father’s toys.  How could you affect him like this?

The storm that raged over Chicago that night made headlines across the country. Lightening so bright it seemed almost supernatural. Thunder so loud people confessed they thought the world was ending. 

* * *

 

Lucifer wasn’t sure why he decided to attend Vince’s recording session the next day instead of setting out to find a strong vessel. Vince’s reputation didn’t matter to him and the meat suit would be dead within a week anyways. But he went, deciding it might be fun to play rock star for a day, if nothing else it was a distraction from the constant thoughts of you. The burning anger. The regret. The longing.

It was coming out of the recording studio hours later that he realized the mistake he had made in not leaving Chicago that morning.   There, parked in front of the police station down the street was the Impala and you were leaning against the side, hair whipping in the wind.

Anger. He would be angry, he would not be weak. But then you turned your head and made eye contact and all he could feel was relief.  You were okay. You survived Amara. The two idiots and their angel had protected you.

He wasn’t ready when you started moving right towards him, that bright smile on your face. 

“Oh my gosh, I know you probably hear this a lot and I’m sorry to bother you but I’m such a big fan, I own all your records and I just had to say hi Mr. Vicente,” you exclaimed.

“Oh. Uh. Thank you,” he stuttered. His hands twitching with the desire to reach out and touch your face. To reassure himself you were okay. To feel your warmth against his fingertips.  He tried to remind himself he should be angry, how dare you make him want to touch you?

“Um, would it be too much trouble if I asked you to take a picture with me? My friends are right across the street and it won’t take long.  It would really mean a lot,” you asked him.

He should say no and turn and walk away from you. Or better yet, say yes and when the Winchesters come over snap his fingers and be done with you all once and for all. But when he saw your smile and heard the excitement in your voice, he nodded his consent like a damn fool and actually stood there in the middle of the street while you fetched Sam Winchester to come take the picture.

When you stood beside him, your arm coming to rest around his waist, he brought his arm up across your shoulders. He waited for you to feel the chill of his touch and call him out for who he really was, but you didn’t seem to notice.

After the picture was taken, he wasn’t prepared for you to turn and give him a hug. Pulling away slightly, your tongue darted out to lick your lips before you thanked him for the picture and walked away. Getting in the car and leaving him standing in the middle of the street with the image of your tongue swiping your lips.

His grace was moving in waves and this time his borrowed body was reacting. He felt flushed, his heart beat was rapid, his erection was painfully straining against the tight jeans he had on.

While you were sleeping in the cheap motel room across town that night, the excitement of meeting one of your favorite singers still fresh in your mind, he was sitting on a park bench, staring at the pond and trying to figure out what was happening to him. 

* * *

 

The next time Lucifer saw you, he was wearing Nick again.

After wearing out Vince, Lucifer had convinced an aging divorce attorney to say yes.  A heavy set balding man, this vessel was the worst yet. Lucifer knew he should keep moving, find a strong vessel and resume his plans for Armageddon, but instead he would sit for hours, days, on a park bench watching the water ripple with the breeze. 

It was there, hidden on his secluded bench, that he overheard bits and pieces of a conversation between two demons. A battle between the King of Hell and his witch mother. The Winchesters assisting Crowley. The girl with them being cursed with something the angel couldn’t heal.  The Winchesters and Crowley were searching for a cure before time ran out.

Lucifer found himself struggling to breathe. He tried to sense where you were, to get to you, but the carvings on your ribs hid you from him.  He tried to seek Castiel, but with his weakening vessel, he couldn’t do anything. The demons had walked away before he could grab them and demand they take him to Crowley.

His desperation and frustration were crippling and he did something he didn’t think he would ever do, hitting the ground hard as he began to pray to his father.  He was still on his knees when Chuck found him. 

“Y/N,” he said, looking up at Chuck.

“They are doing what they can, Castiel is with her trying to ease the pain. Crowley is tearing through demons and the underworld trying to find a cure. Sam and Dean are hunting down every witch they can find” Chuck replied. “You’ve changed.”

“You’ve said that before,” Lucifer said, standing.

“This time is different. I can see it. I can feel it,” Chuck responded.

“Why aren’t you healing her?” Lucifer asked.

“I can’t step in and heal people every time they are sick.   I created all of this. Life and death. I can’t intervene every time someone I care about gets sick or there would be no death.  There has to be order”

“She’s not just someone,” Lucifer raged, thunder rumbling overhead. “She’s Y/N.   Everything she’s done for you. For the world. For the Winchesters. You owe her this. You owe them this.”

Chuck studied Lucifer for a moment before replying. “You care about her.”

“Save her.  I’ll do whatever you want me to. I’ll go back in the cage. I’ll let you run me through with an archangel blade. Just save her,” Lucifer pleaded, dropping to his knees in front of his father once more.  “For me. Father, I beg you.”

Chuck looked down at his most powerful and darkest son, on his knees willing to trade his own existence for a human.

“Son, I can’t help her,” he said “but you can.”

Lucifer looked up to see his father point a finger at him. He felt his existence being pulled out of the body he was in, swirling around before being slammed into another vessel. A vessel that felt right. A vessel that was his. He looked down to see the familiar blue jeans and shirt Nick wore.

He looked up at Chuck. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

* * *

 

The look on the Winchester’s face when he arrived in the bunker with Chuck would have been amusing under other circumstances. He left it to his father to explain to the brothers, Crowley, and Castiel why he was there and instead went straight to your room.

He found you laying on the bed, your face pale, sweat beading on your forehead, and a trickle of blood on the corner of your mouth. “Y/N” he whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Lucifer? I died? I’m in Hell?” you asked, your voice weak.

He soothed the hair back from your forehead. “No love. You aren’t dead. And you won’t be dying anytime soon. I’m going to fix this.”

He placed one hand over your heart and one hand over your head, and began reciting the counter curse his father had given him, a counter curse that could only be powered by an archangel.

* * *

 

By the time Dean, Sam, Crowley, Castiel and Chuck arrived in your bedroom, you were sitting up in bed, a look of concern on your face and Lucifer was standing by the wall, doubled over with his hands on his stomach, his face scrunched in pain.

The fire rippling through his grace as the curse burned him was worse than anything he had ever felt before. No torture Michael had ever inflicted on him could compare to this. He felt like he was burning to death from the inside. He thought for sure his grace was going to explode any minute and he would cease to exist.  He managed to look up at you, tears on your cheeks but color back in your face and his last thought was that it had been worth it as he collapsed on the bedroom floor. 

* * *

 

Lucifer felt something cool against his forehead and he opened his eyes slowly, looking around the room trying to figure out where he was.

“Don’t move much,” he heard your voice say. Turning his head to the right he saw you sitting beside his bed. A wash rag and bowl of water in your lap.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asked, his voice sounded rough and his lips were cracked.

“I’m okay. Thanks to you. Thank you. I don’t know why you did it, but thank you. The curse did a number on you. You’ve been out for days.  Chuck said the curse wouldn’t kill you and your grace would eventually destroy it,” you rambled, bringing the cool rag back up to swipe across his forehead. “I should tell him you are awake.”

Lucifer reached up and grabbed your wrist. “Wait. I…” he didn’t know what to say.

He was surprised when you moved your hand down to lace your fingers with his. “Rest.  We can talk once you are on your feet again.”

Laying there holding your hand, he drifted back into a state of rest. He had something to believe in.

 


End file.
